Wasted Journeys
by Felicionem
Summary: One shot of Sherlock coming home after he jumps to find a very upset John. Johnlock. Please R & R.


**Hello! Just to say that this is set about a month after Sherlock 'dies' so hope you enjoy! **

Sherlock wondered into the flat he'd left behind, looking out for John in the obvious places; the armchair, the kitchen and his bedroom which was locked from the outside. Sherlock sighed but felt a flood of relief as well. His, well, sources had informed him that his friend John had been handling Sherlock's death severely. Sherlock however was not going to flatter himself into thinking this was anything other than the result of John seeing a man he knew well shatter his brains on the pavement. Or so he thought he had seen.

Nevertheless, Sherlock had accidently convinced himself to just return to Baker street, if only for a night to see if John was coping and to... Honestly, Sherlock couldn't even begin to understand what he was doing here. Getting clothes, revealing some answers, saying a final goodbye, all of these things meant nothing to Sherlock but yet still he came.

"Idiot." Sherlock muttered furiously, he came back to see John. Idiot, idiot, idiot. John, who he'd killed himself for. Or at least been prepared to. And now he was doing this and putting John right back on the battlefield. Sherlock cursed himself once again for being such a moron. Sherlock admitting he was stupid was not as rare when it came to certain people.

About to leave, Sherlock realised the sensible thing to do now was to grab some possessions, however worthless they might be now to make up for the unnecessary trip. Something could be salvaged. John can't be half as bad as his sources say if he's gone out at twelve at night. Maybe he's on a date, most likely he's on a date, _definitely on a date _Sherlock thought as he entered his bedroom, smelling John's deodorant as he did. Clearly been getting ready.

Sherlock pulled out a door noisily, not paying attention to his surroundings for once but instead having his mind filled with thoughts of John on a date. A date when he's only been dead a few weeks? Harsh. Not exactly the nicest way to mourn a friend. Sherlock sighed, he was sounding... no. Not jealous of John and his girlfriends. Just a bit frustrated about a wasted journey here.

Sherlock knew he was being delusional.

As he grabbed a bag from the side, tipping out the content onto the floor, he heard a muffled sound from the bed, "Mrs Hudson?" It mumbled gruffly, clearing his throat before trying again. "Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock spun around on his heels with just enough time to see John's eyes widen at the very sight of a dead man walking- standing- in his bedroom.

"Sherlock?" His voice broke in a way that made Sherlock regret everything he's ever done. The sparkling grey eyes cloudy with the promise of unshed tears.

"It's okay, it's fine." Sherlock moved closer to John automatically, kneeling on the bed as John sat up to get a good look at him. John reached up, pressing a large warm hand to each of Sherlock's cheeks.

"Oh god, Sherlock." He cracked, "I've missed you."

Sherlock had no idea what to say, only how sorry he was. The words died on his lips as John pressed his own against them; softly as if he was scared Sherlock would vanish at the touch. Sherlock gently brushed back John's hair, making shushing noises as John watched him carefully.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you." John said in a soft voice, lending back in the pillows for support. Sherlock ran the back of his fingers down his cheeks.

"But John, you have saved me." Sherlock said, frowning only a little at his words. He had needed saving from himself and this horrible world he had created filled with murder mysteries and unsolved crimes. John nodded slightly, his eyes flickering from side to side to take in every bit of Sherlock's face. He looked exhausted, with dark rings around his eyes and trembling hands. Sherlock realised John had been right all along, Sherlock needed things people had in their real lives, as little as he wanted to admit it. Friends, people they like, people they don't like, boyfriends.

Sherlock smiled down at John.

"Can you stay?" John asked, "Please?"

"Of course."

Sherlock lay down on his bed with his face opposite to John's, trying not to overanalyse everything but struggling to turn off his head. Instead he concentrated on trying to memories every aspect of John's face, the way his ears turned down at the tops, the way he had a tiny scar next to his pink lips from chewing on a pencil. John's blinks were getting increasingly slower so Sherlock leant over and pressed his mouth against John's forehead, whispering a goodnight. It was such a stupid thing to do but Sherlock didn't have any idea what else he was meant to say without hurting him more.

After all, he'd do anything to protect the people he loves.

Closing his eyes, John finally starts to get some much deserved rest, with one arm still pressed to Sherlock's face and the other wrapped over his neck. John sighs happily, resting a cheek against the soft white pillows and inhaling deeply. Sherlock smiles at him once more, before drifting off himself.

In the morning Sherlock is gone, leaving behind all his possessions for John to do what he wishing with them. Mrs Hudson can give them all to charity or something. Later in the morning, she rushes into Sherlock's room where John is stirring on the bed and grins at him with sympathy. "John, love, did you finally get some sleep?"

John sits up, blinking rapidly to adjust to the new lights of the day. Sadly, he stares at the empty space where Sherlock had been and rests his hand against the creased sheet and swallows heavily. "Yes." He repeats himself with more conviction, "Yes. And I had the most wonderful dream."

**Ta da, it's just a one shot I think. Please R & R because it means so much to me that you like/ don't like it. Love you all for reading **

**:) **


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